Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dark, light, losing the self, loss of the separate self, night, solstice on December 21, 2019| 4 Comments »
And this is the chapter
when it just feels
too much too much
to turn on the light
and so you sit
in the dark.
This is not a myth
in which you are punished,
turned into a tree or a kingfisher—
nor is this the story
in which you discover
your own light.
No, this is the night
in which you are simply
a lifetime of tired
and unable to turn on the light.
And so it’s you
and the night.
It’s you and the night.
And then it’s just the night.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged book of the dead, candle, darkness, light, poem, poetry, power, solstice on December 22, 2018| Leave a Comment »
and so we rise in darkness
and let our bodies move
without the blare of light.
The house is still and we
are somehow changed
by stillness, changed
by dark. As if we’ve
grown pads in our feet.
As if we are learning
a new silent language
with our limbs, a language
more graceful, more awake.
We find candles. Find
matches. Let the tiny lights
find us. For a thousand years
in Egypt, they wrote
and rewrote The Book
of Emerging Forth into the Light,
a series of writings we somehow came
to call The Book of the Dead.
All the spells were written
to help the dead person journey
through hostile forces
into the afterlife.
And this morning, we
are our only obstacles.
Still, the candles
are a bit like spells,
guiding us with their brilliant ink
toward dawn. There
are no warnings, no judgements,
no naming of evil spirits.
Only this new language
to learn with its syntax
of carbon, it etymologies
of shadow, its phonemes
of coming light.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ars poetica, dark, poem, poetry, solstice on December 18, 2018| 3 Comments »
the night asked me
to read its poetry, all that ink
scrawled across the world—
reading late without the light,
I, too, become page, poem
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dark, light, poem, poetry, solstice on December 2, 2018| Leave a Comment »
There is a light and it never goes out
—The Smiths, There Is a Light That Never Goes Out
And even in these darkest days
in the darkest rooms
with the darkest thoughts
and the darkest words
with the darkest songs
in the dark-full ears
and when the darkening dreams
weights the darkest fear
even then there’s a light
and it never goes out,
even then, when the eyes
know only doubt, even then,
even then, there’s a hand
eager to spill shine
into our cup and all
we need to do is drink,
then pour a bit of shine
for someone else.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged darkness, poem, poetry, solstice, sunshine, you are my sunshine on December 23, 2017| 2 Comments »
We used to sing
You are my sunshine,
sang it like
a children’s song,
all glitter and wing.
That was before
we knew
how dark it can get,
sky without stars,
night without moon.
Even the brightest songs
can be sung in a minor key.
That is no reason
to stop singing.
That’s the time
to ask someone
to dance, please,
slow, your bodies
practicing how
to make light.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged falling in love with the world, light, poem, poetry, solstice, world on December 22, 2016| 2 Comments »
On this gray, near-drizzling day
I write again this love letter
for the earth, which is, I suppose,
what all poems are, though they
disguise themselves as poems about
children or wine or baseball or snow.
On this longest night, it’s so clear—
the truest reason to write at all is to fall
more deeply in love with the world,
with its trees and its drizzle
and its stubborn shine and its
relentless hunger and its corners
that will never ever ever see the growing light.
Fall in love with the octopus that can detach
an arm on purpose and then grow it back again.
Fall in love with the elusive lynx
and the crooked forest and the frazzle ice
tinkling in the San Miguel River.
Fall in love even with this profoundly flawed
species that, despite all its faults,
is still capable of falling more deeply,
more wildly in love.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged light, poem, poetry, praise, solstice on December 23, 2014| 5 Comments »
is it lighter?
I can’t tell—that’s the way
light is sometimes
*
remind me again,
what are we circling? and what
is it circling us?
*
not bell, not mirror
not sigh, not kiss, not morning,
not moon, not kiss, but
*
is it possible
that I might praise
everything
*
oh yes, I remember,
be a fool—that is what
the wise man said
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cold, fall in love with the world, look up, opening, poem, solstice, truth on December 22, 2011| 3 Comments »
the truth
enters
the room
like a cold
cold breeze—
sometimes
we’re ready
for a break
from the heat,
sometimes
it’s just
so
cold
*
it’s not
as if we
can make ourselves
fall in love
with the world,
but I’ve noticed
that when
I look up
it’s more
likely
*
it is
after all
the longest night
and even though
tomorrow
it’s only one
more minute
of light
it is one
more
minute
*
I have been praying
for openings,
and behind
every door
that opens
another door
*
with my one
minute more
I don’t know
what I’ll do—
but I hope
I remember
to
look
up
